In Loathing Memory
by Kitty le Fay
Summary: As Morgana reflects on her father's life and death, she is faced with the numb feeling in getting exactly what she wants. Set on Ep. 4.03


**AN: This is a little monologue of how I think Morgana was really reacting to Uther's death. A lot of people have debated whether she feels remorse or if it's because she felt his pain, but the way I see it she was simply going through the empty feeling of getting exactly what she's wanted for years. So, I've decided to write a little ficlet of what I believe she was thinking.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I remember when I was little, you said that I couldn't be a knight because I was a girl. I was to be a lady and dress up in powders, paints and pretty dresses just to look presentable enough to be looked at. Even before my father–he deserves that title well more than you do, Uther–died in battle, you'd try to make me the princess that I wasn't. Whenever you'd visit and father would teach me to wield a sword or when Arthur and I played Knights, you would always talk of how inappropriate it was for a young girl to be acting like a boy. I shrugged it off until Arthur and I came of age. You gave him his first sword and I remember asking you: "What do I get?" You gave me another dress.

It wasn't long after you took me as your ward that I saw my first execution. I even remember who it was. It was a young woman with lovely dark hair and the kindest eyes I'd ever seen. Looking back now, she reminds me of Morgause; just as wise, sharp and loving as she was. I remember this woman because when I came to Camelot, she noticed how sad I was because my father had died. She just smiled, gave me a rose to cheer me up and told me I would be alright. Then you had my nurse grab me by the arm and take me back inside. I remember waving to her and hoping to see her again. Perhaps, then, I would have at least one friend in Camelot. Three days later, you had her on trial for witchcraft and had her beheaded. I spent the rest of the week crying. I'll never forget the look on your face when I told you: "I hate you, Uther!"

This would happen over and over again for years until the day I discovered I was just like that woman. A witch. I doubt you'd ever be able to understand how frightened I was. I was scared and alone until I went to see the Druids for answers. No, Uther, they did not kidnap me and they did nothing to harm me. Within three days, they became more of a family to me than you or Arthur would ever be. They assured me I was not alone. For the first time, I felt safe and at home again. I was with people like me. And you took them too, Uther. You, your knights and your bastard son took them from me…because you thought I was safe in your arms.

Then Morgause came. The only one I've ever loved who loved me back. She saved me. When she took me away and accepted me as her sister, she saved me. She gave me her home and heart and taught me everything I know. Once more, I felt safe and at home with the only person I would ever love. I would have done anything for her and I did. At last, I was happy giving you exactly what you deserved. I liked watching you suffer as I did for all these long years. At least now I knew why you did it so much. It's wonderful, isn't it? Having that kind of power. The power I had over you was exhilarating.

Soon, the day came when I fell dying. I heard you, Uther…_father_. The word sickens me, now. I heard you tell Gaius of your little liaison with my mother. Behind one of your own knight's back, father. For a moment, I was disgusted, but then you begged Gaius to resort to anything to let me live. Even magic. You were willing to use the magic you so despised to save me. There was a tone in your voice that I rarely heard from you: love. I thought that perhaps you had the world love for me that you had for Arthur and when I awoke back to health, I was eager for a father's love. I thought you would finally accept me as yours…and you rejected me. Your own daughter.

I had never hated you more, Uther, and I was glad to see you suffer the day I was queen.

And now you are gone. You are finally dead and Arthur is now king in your place. He is just like you, father, aren't you proud of him?

I should be thrilled. I should be celebrating. I should be dancing around the bonfire with the Druids, drunk on the finest of wines and singing of a glorious victory with a handsome stranger between my legs. And yet I find I cannot. Instead I feel an unbearable numbness. Perhaps it is because Morgause is no longer here to celebrate with me. Perhaps you are punishing me from the grave. Perhaps I simply have no heart to break for you. I don't know. I only know one thing:

I still hate you, Uther.


End file.
